


What You Deserve

by HardingHightown



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, F/M, Femdom, Light BDSM, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardingHightown/pseuds/HardingHightown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d been gone for two weeks, off on a diplomatic venture to Denerim. He’d helped her set up the horses, choose her entourage for the trip. As much as he wanted to go with her, to stay at her side always, the noble folk were a better match for this. She left with Dorian, Cassandra, and Vivienne early on the morning, pausing briefly before joining Cassandra on their horse to lean in and whisper in his ear:</p><p>“Don’t touch yourself while I’m away.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Deserve

She’d been gone for two weeks, off on a diplomatic venture to Denerim. He’d helped her set up the horses, choose her entourage for the trip. As much as he wanted to go with her, to stay at her side always, the noble folk were a better match for this. She left with Dorian, Cassandra, and Vivienne early on the morning, pausing briefly before joining Cassandra on their horse to lean in and whisper in his ear:

“Don’t touch yourself while I’m away.”

The words had sucked the breath from him. She didn’t look to see how he’d react, didn’t wait for an answer, just got on her horse, turned away, and rode off to Ferelden. She left him hard as a rock and determined to do nothing about it.

The first few days had been fine. A change of routine, that was all. He’d wake hard, as always, and ignore it until it softened down enough to piss. Forgo his usual evening session to help him sleep, but he slept all the same. Then he started to notice others more. The plumpness of Harding’s mouth as she ate in the tavern. The way Threnn’s arms flexed as she trained. Everything about bloody Josephine. He started to think about times with Cadash in the past. The first time he tasted her, with her sat over him, thighs pressing at his temples, the cold night air making her shiver on top as the moonlight caught every bead of sweat. The taste of her, stronger than the human girls he’d fucked. The way her fingers tangled in his hair as she moved herself over his face.

He almost cheated a few times, rutting against his worktable for a few strokes as he carved, desperate to make it just go away so he could work, breathing deeply to stop himself. He couldn’t spar, that was for sure. Bull would notice and make some sort of comment. They all started noticing anyway. Josephine noted his change in mood and accosted him over it one day, and it was all he could do not to take himself in hand right there at the sight of her toothy smile and the feeling of her smooth hand on his.

 

But he reckoned it would be worth it. It was always worth it. Siba always made sure it would be.

 

She hadn’t taken time to prepare. She rode in, came off the horse and went straight to her quarters, calling him to her barely ten minutes after arrival. They agreed their word- _Silverite_ \- they drank a glass of water from the pitcher from the bed, and began. She told him to remove his clothes down to his trousers, tearing all her own clothes from her body, cutting her shirt to pieces with her knife. She used the sleeves to bind him to her bed, wrists held tight against each corner, leaving his mouth free and kissing him over and over, her tongue flicking over his lips, telling him she’d touched herself over thoughts of him like this, every night and morning in the fine silks of the Ferelden nobility. He groaned in her mouth, straining against his bonds at those words. The idea of her, what she’d done. Fucked herself over thoughts of a base Marcher lout so fucking desperate he couldn’t think straight. Desperate to touch. Desperate to be touched.

She left his mouth, turned, ran her palm over his clothed cock, pressing down hard, asking whether he’d be able to come from just that. He’d whined and bucked up to her. She’d be cruel to do it, but she could if she wanted to. She’d sat on his chest, facing away from him, her cunt warm and wet as she continued to stroke him roughly. She was one of the first women he’d been with in all this time that wasn’t afraid of taking him in hand, wasn’t coy about her touch, and when she finally untied the laces, pushing his trousers and smalls down with her bare hands, the mark sparking softly against his cock, he had to bite his tongue. He could smell her now but couldn’t taste her, damn this size difference… but she’d taken pity on him and decided not to tease too long, crawling down his body facing his feet, planting her feet either side of his waist and lowering herself on to him.

And now here he was, tied by his wrists to the heavy rings on her stone dwarven bed, watching her riding his cock.

Her hands were gripped on to his thighs, short nails dug into his skin as she eased herself on to him. Maker, she was always so tight. He forgot each time, the angle of dwarven women, just that little further forward. Their size, the feeling of the stretch as he saw himself disappear in to her, so different and so fucking _good_. She smiled at him over her shoulder, a light, contented sigh escaping her lips as she took all of him, pausing for a moment to get comfortable, to enjoy the feeling of finally being filled by him. Her feet were flat again the bed, giving her leverage to bounce herself at speed when she came back up, one hand gripping his thigh for balance, the other grasping at her breast. Her breath came in short, sharp whines, and in only moments he could feel his stomach tense at the feel and the sight and the sound of it all.

“You tell me when you’re close, Thom.”

She ran her fingernails over the tender flesh inside his thigh when he didn’t respond, making him cry out.

“Yes, Cadash.”

“Good. Keep talking to me. I want to hear your fucking voice.”

He whined deeply as she clenched herself around him- on purpose of course, the sod- her eyes fluttering shut as she slowed her pace for a moment, moving the hand on his thigh to tease at her clit. Maker help him, he couldn’t last, not like this. Not watching her lovely round arse jiggling with every slap of their skin together, not imagining what her hand would look like on the other side of her.

“Maker, what I’d give for a mirror.”

“You want to see more of me?”

The tone of her voice, low and heavy and breathy made him pull against his restraints and thrust up towards her.

“Fuck-”

She laughed softly and turned on him, bringing one leg over his thigh and pulling his leg up so it was bent, his foot solid against the bed. She placed her other leg between his, holding on to him as she rubbed herself on him, gripping his thigh between hers. The little sounds she made like this, almost giggling, so soft and easy as she slowly rocked against him, were so unlike what anybody else knew of her. Here, she was light, fluttering gasps and a smile that lit up her face.

For just a moment things stilled, and he looked at her properly for the first time in weeks. No rush. No duties. Just the light from the stained glass hitting her cheekbones, hitting her scars along her back, lighting up her red hair and, when she opened them, making her brown eyes shine gold. Fuck, she was beautiful, powerful, and fucking _his_ , all his, riding his cock faster and faster, chasing her own climax. She used his body for her pleasure and it was all he fucking needed. Feeling her twitching around him was almost too much to bear on top of the show, and he felt himself getting closer, so fucking close…

“Maker, I don’t deserve you.”

As soon as the words slipped from his lips, he regretted them.

She slid off of him in one movement, coming to her feet, standing at the side of him. The softness left her face, replaced by that steely scowl of hers.

“You don’t say that.”

“Siba, please.”

He half expected her to say the word, _Silverite_ , to stop this scene, to untie him and hold him and stroke his hair, leave him to tug at himself to end it. Instead she locked eyes with him, looking down at him, and told him with no uncertainty:

“I don’t let undeserving men come in me, Thom. So you’d better prove you deserve it.”

The words shot through him, a strange mixture of dread and desire as he watched her step off the bed and walk away to her desk. He found himself straining at his bonds as she opened up her pack, pulling out a bottle of shining translucent liquid.

“It’s oil distilled from the Amrita Vein,” she explained, walking back over and holding up the bottle for him to see. “Popular in Ferelden at the moment. It stands up so straight, keeps strong and upright even in the desert winds, so the story is it helps keep men _hard_.”

She settled beside him again, teasing her middle finger over his still-wet cock, watching with a soft smile as it twitched under the touch. “I don’t suppose you need help staying hard, do you?”

Her eyes met his, and she leant down to his face, lips brushing his, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Do you?”

“No, Cadash.”

“Was it tough, these last few weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Did you come?”

“No. I swear.”

He felt the oil dribble down on to him, the sensation surprising. She had popped open the bottle even though her eyes did not leave his. He knew better than to look himself, but he couldn’t help the slight hiss at the sensation of it, the thick oil dripping down from his cock onto his stomach and down his thighs. It was… pleasant. A little cool, but with the slightest tingle on the skin.

She threw the small bottle from her hand, settling herself to lie next to him, one leg draped over him whilst her hand gripped on to his cock, light at first as she spread the oil over him, then gripping around him, moving in short, tight movements near the tip as her tongue flicked at his collarbone.

“Were you close? Close to breaking?”

“No.”

The word slipped from him before thinking, and she moved her hand away, making him buck up to try and find her touch.

“I don’t believe you, Rainier.”

“Please-“

“No lies here. I’ll ask again. Were you close?”

He thought of the day when he watched Threnn training a younger woman. He thought of how his cock had throbbed at the sight of the older woman pinning the lithe elf down, the swell of the muscles in her neck and her shoulders, the flush on the pretty girl’s face as she lay bested by the warrior. He thought of lying in bed that night, on his stomach, feeling his prick trapped between his belly and the furs, close to fucking leaking.

“Yes. Maker, yes.”

She gave a satisfied hum, returning her hand to him in long, strong pumps that made his breath stick in his throat. The sound of the oil filled his ears, each move of her hand sounding so slick.

“Fuck, Siba,”

“Thinking of me?”

“Yes.”

“And others?”

“Yes.”

“You’re so good for me. So _honest_.”

He watched her shift again, her lips tracing down his chest as she knelt beside him. That word still twisted inside him, even now, months after he revealed himself to her. She wasn’t being anything but sincere though, he knew that. It wasn’t a jab. She meant every word. Maybe that was why it stayed in his belly, knotted deep.

She continued tracing a path with her mouth as her hand slowed, pausing to his at his hip-bone to flick her tongue over his skin. It made him fucking shiver, and she knew it, a little chuckle escaping her as he bucked his hips. She looked up at him, eyes shining.

“Do you want my mouth?”

What a fucking question. He held her gaze, his cock thrusting in to her hand the only answer he needed to give. She shifted slightly til her mouth was over the head, and then leaned down to press a thick kiss to the very tip.

It took all he had not to thrust straight up into her mouth, but he knew the punishment for such behaviour. He was aching though, her hand taking him right to the edge again. A few short pumps, and he’d be spilling his seed down her throat.

“Do you _deserve_ my mouth?”

Her voice again, firmer this time, reminded him of his past mistake. He opened his mouth to say that one simple word.  
  
The word that stuck in his throat.

He practically growled as she pulled her mouth away, straining his arms against his ties and rubbing his legs together. He needed to be touched, Maker he needed it so badly, but instead she swung a leg over his chest and moved to straddle his face, facing his feet as she moved herself over him, her cunt close to his lips.

“Prove it then, if you can’t find the words.”

With a slight shift she was on his lips and fuck, was it perfect. The smell of her was heavy and thick this close. She must have been so near to coming herself; he could see her thighs glistening above him, around him, Maker them smell was driving him mad. His tongue could finally reach her, licking a long line, pushing his tongue from the back to the front and circling gently, chuckling slightly at the sound of her above him, a strangled moan escaping her even as he knew she was trying to stay strong.

She was moving her hips over him already. He loved it like this. Letting her rub herself over his mouth, his nose. Watching her control stutter as he surprised her with a flex of his tongue. She was already trembling, her thighs by his cheeks flexing as she rode his face… what he would give for free hands to grab her arse and hold her steady as he fucked her with his tongue. But she was close, that’s what was important. Gliding herself over his tongue had changed to short, sharp movements, letting the pointed tip of it circle her clit. He knew exactly when he was going to close his lips around her, but not yet. Her voice was coming in ragged sighs, but it was when it got deeper, when he could feel her moan in her abdomen, that was when he closed in, flicked his tongue hard and let her thighs clamp around him.

“Fuck, Thom.”

He moaned against her, drawing that sound he craved, that vibration against his neck, and his tongue found her clit, his lips sucking hard. She fell forward, and he almost lost his rhythm as her hand returned to his neglected cock, stroking him with the same vigour as he was licking her, the oil still slick under her hand. Between the smell of her, the taste of her, the feeling of her thighs trembling harder and oh Maker, her other hand reaching down to stroke his balls as her hand moved he knew he wouldn’t last much longer and-

Her hands stilled on him, holding tight as she tensed suddenly around him, her thighs gripping, taking away from the deep ache in his balls. He was so close this time, so fucking close. He tried to fuck her hand but to no avail as she came hard, all of her body rictus against him, his eyes focused on the beauty of the fluttering of her cunt in front of him.

As she moved off him, he looked down at his cock, now almost purple, begging to be touched. She came back to him, kissing the taste of herself from his lips with big sweeps of her tongue.

“Do you think,” she asked between kisses, her hands tracing through his sodden beard, “You deserve to come yet?”

“Please-“

“Tell me you deserve it.”

“Siba…”

He felt almost delirious. And yet that word, that simple affirmation, it stuck in his throat. She moved back down his body again, finding the phial and pouring the last of it on to her hand.

“Bend your knees, Thom.”

He did what she asked without question. Anything to get her bloody hands on him. His arms were starting to ache above him. The taste of her still on his tongue and the sight of a line of precome on his stomach wasn’t helping. He needed her. He needed this.

Her finger on his arsehole was still a new feeling. The first time they’d done it, he’d struggled to relax, but now with her kissing and nipping at his thighs, he found himself urging her on. She slipped one finger in, just a little, and he felt his eyes drift shut at the gentleness of it all.

“You’re beautiful like this Thom.”

He laughed, a soft sort of shiver, opening his eyes again to see her cheek resting against his thigh.

“I mean it. You’re beautiful on my fingers.”

She thrust in deeper to prove her point, flexing her finger just slightly.

“I could make you come like this.”

“Maker-“

“But I think you deserve more. Don’t you? You’ve proved it. You deserve more.”

“ _Yes_.”

The word flew from his lips as she curled her finger up, hitting that spot inside him he’d missed for so long. She leaned forwards, grasping his cock in her other hand and flicking her tongue over that sweet gland underneath rapidly, her eyes looking up at him all the while. The sight of her, her shoulder flexing as she thrust, her pink tongue against the dark flesh, the fact that she wanted it, that he was beautiful to her, that she wanted _him_ -  
  


He knew he must be roaring, but he couldn’t hear a thing past the heat and white noise in his mind as he tensed around her finger, finally releasing with a long line of come hitting him on his beard. She kept on gently rubbing her tongue on him, thrusting her finger gently as he continued to spurt over his chest, his abdomen, pausing only to gently suck the last of it from his sensitive cock as he lay gasping.

He was vaguely aware of her crawling up beside him as the world came back in to focus, taking off the ties to his wrists and pouring a glass of water. She held it to his lips and he drank readily, relishing how it bought the taste of her back to life on his tongue. His breath still came ragged as she spoke.

“Can I say something?”

He glanced over to see her frowning at him, sat up on her legs. He nodded, watching as she hesitantly placed a hand on his chest, over his still rapid heart. She licked her lip, breathing in deeply to find the words.

“Thom, you are the one I have chosen.”

She couldn’t look him in the eye. She never could when speaking about anything that mattered. But her hand stayed there, on his chest, level and unmoving and making him breathe deeply.

“To say you don’t deserve me… It’s not fair to say that. It’s not fair on me, do you understand? I know my judgements. I know what I want. And what I deserve. And you are…”

She stumbled, the fingers on his chest drumming slightly. With effort, she looked at him, biting her lip before she came out with it.

“You are more than adequate.”

He laughed at that, laughed even more at her frown. He didn’t mean to, not to laugh at _her_. The sound came from deep in his belly. Relief, mostly. Ease.

He believed her.

She sucked on her teeth, reaching for a cloth she kept beside her bed and daubing at the long marks over his chest. She tried to tug out the bit that had hit his beard, but gave up.

“We’ll need to get a bath run. You’re a mess.”

“Happily ruined.”

“Good.”

She leaned in and kissed him then, softer than before, her lips meeting his fully. Warmly. He felt… he felt…

 

He felt himself jolt as he woke up.

 

Siba had tucked a blanket around him. The candles were lit, as was the hearth. The heat in the room was made more by the steam rising from her tin bath in the centre of the room, and he felt…

“The water is nice and hot,” he heard her say, coming in from the balcony. “The fire’s been under it a few times.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Doesn’t matter. You needed it.”

She walked over to the bed, crawling up to join him. She sat by his side, tracing the fingers of one hand over his ribs.

“I watched you a bit, you know.”

“Did you now?”

“I did.”

“Was I entertaining?”

“You were peaceful.”

He thought of all the times he woke in the night. Or the nightmares. He thought of how often he’d wake bolt-upright, slick with sweat, and she’d hold down his tense arms, stop him from pulling at his hair. She’d let him shake, say nothing, but hold on to him until he drifted away again. Peaceful. Peaceful was new.

“Do you want this bath?”

He looked down at his body, still rather… crusty.

“I think that’s wise.”

On standing he found his legs were still a little shaky under him, his arms still slightly sore. She noticed, because of course she did, and came to his side to gently wrap an arm around his waist.

“I’m not an old man yet, you know.”

She laughed at him softly, looking up at him with a wry smile. “We’re both old. And I pushed you.”

“You think we’re old.”

“We _are_ old. Deal with it.”

She led him to the edge of the bath and let him place his hand on her shoulder for support, bracing as he put one leg over, then the other. Lowering himself in, he noted the heavy scent of fragrant oils coming from the water. He wondered if they were new, or from his body…

He noticed she wasn’t undressing.

“Not joining me?”

“Not yet.”

“Water’s good.”

“Not _yet_.”

He watched her walk slowly around the tub until she was out of view, then he took the time to relax down. The water took all the aches from his muscles. Maker, he had gone too long without this simple pleasure. He breathed deeply, letting the steam melt in his lungs.

“I bought more oils from Denerim,” he heard her say from behind him. He chuckled as she came in to view again, holding a green phial.

“I don’t think I’m ready for round… five, was it?”

“Not for that. Though maybe later?”

“You’d be lucky, you cheeky sod.”

She grinned at him, moving just out of his eye line again, and pulling his hair gently from between his back and the edge of the tub.

“Sit up a bit. Just for a while,” she commanded. He was, as always, powerless to say no.

She took his hair in her hands, pausing to kiss his crown. His hair was bordering on matted, he knew that. He kept it drawn back these days, but it still barely saw a brush. It just seemed unimportant somehow. Not worth caring about. Nothing much about his person needed much more than a slight thought. Basic food. Cold water. Scrub, tug, train, keep strong for others, the rest was inconsequential. They were important. He was just…

She took the hair in her hands as if it were spun gold and, pouring the precious oil through it, started to pull apart the strands from the scalp.

As she teased out the knots, he felt... He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He shook his head, trying to force them away.

“Should I stop?”

Her voice from behind him was clear, level. Not scared. No hint of fear that she’d hurt him. She knew she’d never, and he knew she’d never. No ridicule. No stab at his weakness. Nothing. Just a question. No agenda. No game. For the first time he felt… he felt…

 _Safe_.

He shook his head, and she continued, strand by strand with strong deft fingers. He breathed deep and long and Maker, he let himself cry. Quiet, long heaves of sound as his cheeks grew wet and she kept on, pulling out the knots in his hair, anointing his head with oil, pausing only to lean down, to kiss his temples and whisper tender words. She had, as always, shown him, rather than told him what she feels for him.

He was- he _is_ \- loved.


End file.
